


I Don’t Blame You For Being You (But You Can’t Blame Me For Hating It)

by Bibabybi



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Mean girls Au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-22 12:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16597535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibabybi/pseuds/Bibabybi
Summary: “Who’s Patrick Stump?” Tyler asked, squinting at the gaggle of chattering teenagers across the field.“He’s the leader of The Plastics,” Dallon said.“Teen royalty,” Pete added. “They practically run this school.”





	1. Chapter One

“Now, honey, don’t be scared. I know this is tough, but you are going to do just fine.”

Tyler knew this. He had spent every waking hour preparing for this moment. He had watched every teenage movie known to man, scoured the internet for anything regarding the “life of an American teenager”, and listened to every pep talk his parents gave him. Though they were really giving them to themselves. Even right now, Tyler’s mom looked as if she were about to throw up, her knuckles gripping the steering wheel so hard they were turning white.

“I know,” Tyler smiled gently. “I’m sure it’ll be just fine. I mean, how different can it be?”

His mom shot him a pained smile. “Exactly! Now get in there and make some friends!”

“Love you,” Tyler grinned as he leaned over to hug her. “Have a good day at work! I’ll see you tonight!”

He hopped out of the car, his backpack clinging to his shoulders and ukulele gripped in his hands.

“Bye!” his mother called out.

He gave her one last wave, and then he was swallowed by the pit that was high school.

-

High school buildings were not like regular buildings. Everyone was shoving, it was always loud, and somehow everything was dirty.

It was far from what Tyler was expecting. But Tyler refused to let that throw him off. High school was going to be good. It had to be.

He walked through the door of his first period expecting everyone to be in their seats, notebooks ready, and faces smiling.

What he saw was perhaps the most extreme opposite of that anyone could possibly think of.

Students were strewn about the classroom, more people sitting on the desks than in their chairs, and most people didn’t look like they even had a pencil, let alone a notebook.

Tyler scurried to the nearest desk, letting out an internal sigh of relief as he was finally able to sit down. It hadn’t even been three minutes, had it? How could he possibly be this tired?

“Hey!” someone across the room shouted. “That’s my desk!”

It took Tyler a moment to realize the offended student was speaking to him.

“Sorry,” Tyler blurted, stumbling to his feet. “I didn’t - None of your stuff was here - I just didn’t-”

“Yeah, well next time, maybe do,” the student sneered.

Tyler didn’t have the slightest clue what that meant, but he didn’t plan on sticking around to find out. He moved to the next desk, only to be stopped by a voice behind him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Tyler spun around sharply, eyes searching wildly for the owner of said voice. They finally landed on a short boy with long, dark bangs and messy eyeliner. His feet were kicked up on the desk, one hand flicking a pen onto a notebook filled with nothing but doodles, the other lazily fixing his rather awful hair.

“Phil Lester’s boyfriend is gonna sit there,” he finished.

And, sure enough, Eyeliner Boy had hardly finished talking before someone slid into the empty seat and locked lips with who Tyler could only assume was Phil.

Tyler swallowed down his frustration, instead willing himself to move calmly on to the next desk. There was no reason to make a scene on his first day.

“He’s a drummer,” Eyeliner Boy piped up, nodding to the boy a seat behind the desk Tyler had picked. “He’ll never stop tapping.”

Tyler allowed himself the slightest huff of frustration as he backed up, craning his neck to get a better view of the room.

“Is there any seat that isn’t absolutely awful-”

He cut himself off with a short yelp as he collided with what felt to be someone holding a brand new cup of coffee.

Tyler prayed to God that the coffee didn’t spill. He couldn’t handle that kind of humiliation. Not on his first day.

Unfortunately, it appeared God had chosen to look the other way today.

“I’m so sorry,” stammered Tyler. “I just - Oh God - I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not you,” said the man, eyes trained on his coffee-stained shirt in disgust. “I’m bad luck.”

“I should’ve been paying attention,” Tyler insisted.

“It’s fine,” sighed the man. “Just please sit down.”

Tyler shrunk back as the realization that he had just poured coffee all over his brand new teacher dawned on him. He opened his mouth to, once again, apologize, but it was as if someone had severed his vocal chords. So he opted instead to fling himself into the closet desk he could find, not caring about any of Eyeliner Boy’s advice.

“Alright class,” said the teacher, pulling a jacket on over his drenched shirt. “Welcome to Musicianship. Now I know you all are here because you love music,” Tyler didn’t have to look at the students to know their deadpanned expressions told a different story, “And I just know we are going to have so much fun.”

“Mister Armstrong?” 

The teacher - Mister Armstrong - spun around to grin at a second man who had inexplicably appeared in the doorway.

“Principal Elton,” grinned Mister Armstrong. “What are you doing here? How was your summer?”

“My carpal tunnel came back,” said the principal, holding up a bandaged hand weakly. “How was yours?”

“I got divorced,” Mister Armstrong said, voice dripping with false cheeriness. “I win.”

“Yes, you do,” Principal Elton agreed. “And while I will be happy to unpack that with you later, I came down here to let everyone know that we have a new student joining us this year!”

Tyler sank down in his seat as far as he possibly could. This could not be happening.

“He just moved here all the way from Africa!” Principal Elton announced. “His name is Tyler Joseph. Where are you, Tyler?” Tyler weakly put up a hand. “Ah! There you are! I just wanted to welcome you to our school and wish you good day!”

“Thank you,” Tyler forced out, each syllable feeling as heavy as lead.

He knew Principal Elton was just trying to be nice. He knew he just wanted to make Tyler’s first day a little easier. But Tyler couldn’t help but wish the ground would swallow himself whole and never let him see the light of day ever again.

-

“Is that a ukulele?”

Tyler glanced up, almost shyly. “Yeah.”

A boy with messy hair was standing across from him, head nodding to some imaginary beat.

“That’s pretty cool,” said the boy. “I can play too! But I usually settle for the bass.”

Tyler nodded furiously. “I can play that too! It’s a good instrument. Pretty cool. Can make lots of...sounds...” he trailed off lamely, realizing this attempt at conversation was probably not what others would deem normal.

“Yeah,” nodded the boy, eyeing Tyler strangely. “I guess it does.”

Before Tyler had a chance to redeem himself, Eyeliner Boy was sliding up next to them, eyes darting between Tyler and the other boy.

“C’mon,” said Eyeliner Boy, tugging lightly on the other boy’s arm. “We’re gonna be late for health class.”

“Wait!” blurted Tyler, before he could stop himself. “I have health class too! Do you think you could show me the way?”

The two other boys shared a look, and for a moment Tyler was positive they were going to turn and leave. But then they were nodding and Tyler was following them out of the old classroom and into the overpacked hallway.

“That’s in the back building,” said Eyeliner Boy.

“Yeah, the back building,” said his friend.

“We’ll show you the way.”

“Thanks,” Tyler smiled, relief clear on his face.

“Make way!” the other boy yelled, shoving through the sea of teenagers. “New meat coming through!”

“I’m Pete,” said Eyeliner Boy. “And this is Dallon.”

“I’m Tyler.”

“We heard,” Pete said, an amused smile playing on his lips.

Tyler grimaced as the humiliated washed over him once again. “Right.”

Pete chuckled and threw Tyler a grin that calmed his nerves. Something to let him know that Principal Elton’s stunt wasn’t going to earn any judgement from Pete.

“So, Tyler, why did you move?” Pete asked, walking calmly through the pathway Dallon created. Tyler still somehow found himself being jostled every which way.

“Parents got offered new jobs,” Tyler said. “They finished up their research and headed back home to restart their lives.”

“Was it hard?” Dallon asked, glancing back at them curiously as he shoved open a door Tyler could only assume would lead them to the back building

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “I’m gonna miss it a lot. But I was excited to finally see what it would be like to be an American teenager.”

Pete let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, well, you weren’t missing much.”

Pete and Dallon stopped suddenly, plopping down under a large oak tree.

“Where’s the back building?” Tyler asked cautiously.

Pete shrugged. “It burned down a few years ago.”

“But, what about health class?” Tyler pressed.

“Health class sucks,” Dallon said. “You don’t need to go to that.”

Tyler chewed nervously on his lower lip. “Will we get in trouble for this?”

“Why would we get you in trouble?” Pete said, smiling gently. “We’re your friends.”

Tyler couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, but he wasn’t exactly in the position to be passing up friends. So he sat himself down on the grass, tossing his backpack carelessly to the side.

“It’s so big here,” Tyler said, eyeing the lawn around him cautiously. As if worried it would swallow him whole at any moment. “I’ve never gone to a never school before, and I guess I never realized just how big they really were. How do you not get lost?” 

Pete laughed at Tyler’s worried face. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you out. You’ll get the hang of it soon.”

“Why did your parents stop homeschooling you?” Dallon asked.

Tyler shrugged. “They wanted me to get socialized. Whatever that means.”

Dallon and Pete’s eyes met from across the grass, both of them pulling the same gossipy expression.

“What?” Tyler asked. What was it with these two and their damn secret looks? Couldn’t they say their thoughts out loud for once?

“Nothing,” shrugged Dallon. “Just that your parents don’t have to worry about you being socialized.”

“Of course not!” chirped Tyler, a broad grin spreading across his face. “I’ve already made two great friends!”

“You’re sweet, but I don’t think you get it,” said Pete, lips pulled into a smirk. “You’re a regulation hottie. Own it.”

Tyler ducked his head, his cheeks turning so hot he worried they would catch on fire. “Oh - I mean - Alright...”

His eyes darted around the lawn, desperate to find a new topic. Anything to direct the conversation away from him.

“Uh - There’s a class coming out here,” Tyler said. “Should we go?”

Dallon and Pete glanced over, both immediately rolling their eyes. It was so in synch it just about sent chills down Tyler’s back.

“Oh, well would you look at that,” drawled Dallon. “Patrick Stump’s changed his hair again.”

Pete scoffed. “Guess he finally got sick of the bleach blond look.”

“Too bad,” Dallon said, shrugging. “I liked it.”

Pete groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. “Don’t give me that.”

“What‽” Dallon said. “Someone can be hot and still be the worst person to walk the earth.”

Pete pulled a face, which Dallon promptly ignored.

“Who’s Patrick Stump?” Tyler asked, squinting at the gaggle of chattering teenagers across the field.

“He’s the leader of The Plastics,” Dallon said.

“Teen royalty,” Pete added. “They practically run this school.”

“That one there is Brendon Urie,” Dallon said. Brendon was up on his tip-toes, reaching his cell phone up as high as he could get it and barely even blinking as he bumped into every student within his reach. “He is the dumbest person you will ever meet.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s not that stupid,” Tyler said.

“I once saw him put a D in the word orange,” Dallon deadpanned.

“That’s Gerard Way,” Pete said. Gerard was chattering mindlessly on the phone, eyes locked on his brightly colored nails. “He’s totally rich because his dad owns this big music store in the mall. He knows everything about everyone. I’m convinced it’s because he’s stealing the security tapes.”

“And evil takes a human form in Patrick Stump,” Dallon sneered.

Patrick was staring into the camera of his phone, batting his eyelashes as he fixed his hat in the reflection.

“Don’t be fooled, because he may seem like the innocent, boy next door type,” Pete said. “But in reality he’s just a selfish, back-stabbing, slut-faced, hoe-bag. No, actually. He’s so much worse than that.”

“He’s the queen bee,” Dallon said, forcefully stopping Pete’s ramblings. “The other two may look like they own this place, but trust me, they just work for him. The entire school practically kisses his feet, and he always wins the Spring Fling.”

“Ugh, who cares?” Pete spat.

“I care!” insisted Dallon.

Tyler glanced between them curiously. “What’s the Spring Fling?”

“The Spring Fling is the biggest dance of the school year,” Dallon said. “Whoever is elected king or queen gets to play a set. And since I am a musician who would like the chance to play something before I graduate, I would say yes, I care.”

“Dallon, the Spring Fling is not your one chance to play in front of an audience,” Pete said.

“You know what, just because you’re too emo to function, does not mean you have to hate everything all the time,” Dallon said in a huff. “The Spring Fling can be fun!” he turned suddenly to Tyler, a hopeful smile on his face. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

“Sure,” shrugged Tyler. “I’ve always wanted the high school dance experience.”

Pete let out a low chuckle. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re not missing much.”

Tyler couldn’t help but pray he was wrong. High school had to be good. It had to be.


	2. Chapter Two

“Here.” Tyler flinched as Dallon shoved a piece of binder paper in his face. “This is your map to the cafeteria. It just might be the most important possession you own, so do not, under any circumstances lose it.”

“Alright,” said Tyler, eyeing the paper curiously. “What does that mean?”

“It means where you sit in the cafeteria is crucial,” Pete said. “Because you’ve got everybody there. It’s how they brand you.”

“You’ve got your drummers, guitarists, vocalists, indie nerds, classical nerds, kids who are obsessed with the 80’s, pop-punk kids, die hard rock n’roll kids,” Dallon listed, “The best people you’ll ever meet-”

“That’s us,” Pete supplied helpfully.

“-And the worst,” Dallon finished, grimacing.

“Beware the plastics,” Pete said.

Tyler chewed his lip as he analyzed the map, heart tightening in his chest. Pete and Dallon sat at the very back of the cafeteria. In order to get to them, he would have to make his way through the entire school.

A few hours ago, that wouldn’t have bothered Tyler in the slightest. Who cares if he has to walk through a crowded room? But now Tyler has seen exactly why so many people are scared shitless of teenagers, and he’s not too excited to be alone with them.

-

“Excuse me! We’re doing a lunchtime survey of new students, would you mind if we asked you a couple questions?”

Tyler stared at the boy who had appeared in front of him, effectively blocking his pathway to safety. Tyler wanted very much to explain to this boy that he couldn’t answer his questions because it would be very dangerous to be standing in the middle of the school cafeteria, alone. But he figured that wouldn’t go over very well. He didn’t want to be deemed crazy on his first day.

So, begrudgingly, he nodded. Who knows, maybe this incredibly short boy would be nice. Maybe he would gain more than two friends.

“Okay,” said the boy. “Do you prefer your hotdog in the bun or out of the bun?”

Tyler’s hands tightened on his lunch tray. “Do I what-”

The boy fought back a laugh. “Would you like us to find you a bun?”

“I-”

“Is he bothering you?”

Tyler turned sharply, his mouth going dry as he spotted who was sitting at the table next to them. Of course this had to be the table he was stopped at. Because he just can’t get a break, can he?

“Frank, why are you such a skeez?” Patrick said, lips pulled into a smile full of poison.

“I’m just being friendly,” the boy - Frank - sneered.

Gerard leaned forward suddenly, voice dropping into a stage-whisper, “You were supposed to call me last night.”

Frank opened his mouth, Tyler hoped it was to apologize, but was sharply cut off by Patrick.

“Frank, you do not come to a party at my house with Gerard and then scam on some poor guy right in front of us three days later! He’s not interested.” Patrick then turned to Tyler, his piercing stare making Tyler squirm. “Do you want to have sex with him?”

Tyler’s face burned.

“No thank you,” he squeaked out, the words feeling awkward in his mouth.

“Good,” and that fake smile was back on Patrick’s face again, “It’s settled. So you can go smear some more of that awful eyeliner on your face now. Bye, Frank.”

Frank looked like he wanted to murder Patrick then and there. But, instead, he turned and stalked away, grumbling a quiet, “Bitch,” under his breath.

Tyler started to scurry off, hoping against hope that somehow that would be the end of it and he would never have to face The Plastics or Frank ever again. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten more than two steps before Patrick was calling after him.

“Sit down.”

Tyler glanced across the cafeteria, where Pete and Dallon were watching him like a pair of hawks.

“Seriously, sit down.”

‘What are you doing?’ Dallon mouthed, as Pete made furious don’t-do-it motions.

“C’mon, sit down.”

Tyler’s eyes darted between the two tables. “I - Uh-”

Patrick laughed. It seemed friendly enough. “I don’t bite.”

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Tyler slammed his tray down on the table and hopped in the nearest chair. He wouldn’t want to get on The Plastic’s bad side, right?

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?” Patrick asked.

“I just moved here,” Tyler said. “From Africa. I’m new.”

Patrick looked taken-aback. “What?”

“I was homeschooled.”

“Wait, what?”

“My mom taught me at home-”

“No, no, I know what homeschooled is,” Patrick insisted. “I’m not an idiot. So you’ve actually never been to a real school before?” When all Tyler did was shrug, Patrick gasped loudly. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!”

“I didn’t - I didn’t say anything,” Tyler murmured.

“Home schooled,” Patrick mused. “That is so interesting.”

Tyler had to disagree. But he didn’t want to upset Patrick, so he settled on replying with a simple, “Thanks.”

“But you’re, like, really pretty,” Patrick said.

“Oh! Thanks!”

“So you agree?”

“What?”

“You think you’re pretty?”

“Oh - um...” Tyler squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. How is he supposed to answer that? “I don’t know.”

“Oh my gosh, I love your ukulele,” Patrick gushed.

“Thanks.” A smile tugged on Tyler’s lips. “I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember. It might as well be my lifeline.”

Patrick grinned at him, “That is so sweet!”

“It’s so fetch,” Gerard piped up.

“It’s - Uh - What?” Tyler asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Fetch,” Gerard said. “It’s, like, slang, but from England.”

“So...” Brendon said, each word rolling off his tongue slow enough to make a snail jealous. “If you’re from Africa, why are you white?”

“Oh my God, Brendon!” hissed Gerard. “You can’t just ask people why they’re white!”

Patrick rolled his eyes at his friends, and for a split second Tyler could see the teen royalty Pete and Dallon had warned him about. But then the smile was back on and Tyler was sure he must have imagined it.

“Can you give us a minute?” Patrick asked.

“Oh - Um - Yeah,” Tyler said.

He wasn’t really sure what Patrick wanted him to do, but he settled on leaning back as much as he could without falling off the chair and turning so he could only see The Plastics in his peripheral vision. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a blurry Patrick whispering fervently between a blurry Brendon and a blurry Gerard, hands covering their mouths. Unfortunately, he was now forced to look right at Pete and Dallon, both of whom looked very confused and frustrated.

‘Get over here!’ mouthed Pete.

‘Get out of there!’ Dallon mouthed.

‘I’m trying!’ Tyler mouthed back.

“Okay,” Patrick said, and Tyler quickly spun back around to face him. “So, you should know we don’t do this a lot, so this is, like, a really huge deal. But, we want to invite you to eat lunch with us for the rest of the week.”

“Oh - Thank you, but it’s okay-”

“Coolness,” Patrick said, dismissing Tyler’s words with a flash of a smile. “So we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On Wednesdays, we wear eyeliner,” Brendon supplied.

And then they were gone, leaving Tyler more confused than ever.

-

“Oh my God!” Pete wheezed, the words barely eligible through the loud cackling. “You have to do it! And then tell us all the horrible things Patrick says. Oh my God, I can’t believe this.”

Pete was nearly doubled over in laughter, gripping the bathroom sink to keep himself from falling over. Even Dallon looked amused. But Tyler couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what was so funny.

“Patrick seems sweet,” Tyler said, voice quiet.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Pete sobered up. He straightened up so quickly Tyler stumbled back a step, and suddenly Pete was deathly serious.

“Sweet?” he spat. “Patrick Stump is not sweet. He’s a scum-sucking fucking whore who ruined my life!”

“He may have the voice of an angel, but everything else about him is pure evil,” Dallon said.

“Why do you hate him?” Tyler asked.

Pete cocked his head curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Patrick,” Tyler said. “You seem to really hate him.”

“Yeah,” said Pete. “What’s your point?”

“Well, why?”

“Patrick started this rumor-”

“Dallon!” hissed Pete. “Can we not?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, this isn’t about hating him. I just think it would be a fun little, I dunno, experiment if you were to hang out with them and tell us everything they say.”

Tyler dug the heel of his palms into his eyes. “What would we even talk about?”

“Cryptic artwork,” Dallon said.

“Ghostbusters,” Pete said.

Tyler furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that a band?”

“What‽” Pete cried. “No! Why would you - Would you just do it? Please?”

“Fine,” huffed Tyler. “Do either of you have any eyeliner?”

Dallon and Pete nodded in synch, “Yes.”


End file.
